Ballads  of  Lost  Haven 


-r 


Ballads  of  Lost  Haven 

A  Book  of  the  Sea 


By  Bliss  Carman 

Author  of  Low  Tide  on  Grand  Pre,  Behind  the  Arras, 
Songs  firom  Vagabondia,  ^r. 


VTCRESCIT 

f 

Lamson,  WolfFe  and  Company 

Boston,  Netv  York  and  London 

MDCCCXCVII 


Copyright,  1897, 
By  Lamson,  Wolflfe  and  Company. 


Al/  rights  reserved. 


ICottoooli  Kjecvn 

J.  8.  Ciuhing  ft  Cu.  -  Berwick  k  Smith 
Norwood  Mmi.  U.8.A. 


Contents 

PAGB 

•  A  Son  of  the  Sea      ........  7 

•  The  Gravedigger 8 

'  The  Yule  Gusst 12 

The  Marring  of  Malyn 26 

The  Nancy's  Pride 43 

Arnold,  Master  of  the  Scud 48 

•  The  Ships  of  St.  John .55 

The  King  of  Ys 59 

.  The  Kelpie  Riders 68 

Noons  of  Poppy •        •        •  93 

•  Legends  of  Lost  Haven    .       .        .       .        .        .        »  9$ 

•  The  Shadow  Boatswain 98 

The  Master  of  the  Isles 104 

•  The  Last  Watch no 

Outbound ii6 


A  SON  OF  THE  SEA 

I  WAS  bora  for  deep-sea  faring; 
I  was  bred  to  put  to  sea; 
Stories  of  my  father's  daring 
Filled  me  at  my  mother's  knee. 

I  was  sired  among  the  surges; 
I  was  cubbed  beside  the  foam; 
All  my  heart  is  in  its  verges, 
And  the  sea  wind  is  my  home. 

All  my  boyhood,  from  far  veraal 
Bourns  of  being,  came  to  me 
Dream-like,  plangent,  and  eternal 
Memories  of  the  plunging  sea. 

7 


THE  GRAVEDIGGER 

Oh,  the  shambling  sea  is  a  sexton  old, 
And  well  his  work  is  done. 
With  an  equal  grave  for  lord  and  knave, 
He  buries  them  every  one. 

Then  hoy  and  rip,  with  a  rolling  hip. 
He  makes  for  the  nearest  shore; 
And  God,  who  sent  him  a  thousand  ship, 
Will  send  him  a  thousand  more; 
But  some  he'll  save  for  a  bleaching  grave. 
And  shoulder  them  in  to  shore, — 
Shoulder  them  in,  shoulder  them  in, 
Shoulder  them  in  to  shore. 

8 


The  Gravedigger 

Oh|  the  ships  of  Greece  and  the  ships  of  Tyre 
Went  out,  and  where  are  they? 
In  the  por^  they  made,  they  are  delayed 
With  the  ships  of  yesterday. 

He  followed  the  ships  of  England  far, 

As  the  ships  of  long  ago; 

And  the  ships  of  France  they  led  him  a  dance, 

But  he  laid  them  all  arow. 

Oh,  a  loafing,  idle  lubber  to  him 
Is  the  sexton  of  the  town; 
For  sure  and  swift,  with  a  guiding  lift, 
He  shovels  the  dead  men  down. 

But  though  he  delves  so  fierce  and  grim. 
His  honest  graves  are  wide. 
As  well  they  know  who  sleep  below 
The  dredge  of  the  deepest  tide. 


The  Gravedigger 

Oh,  he  works  with  a  rollicking  stave  at  lip, 
And  loud  is  the  chorus  skirled; 
With  the  burly  rote  of  his  rumbling  throat 
He  batters  it  down  the  world. 

He  learned  it  once  in  his  father's  house, 
Where  the  ballads  of  eld  were  sung; 
And  merry  enough  is  the  burden  rouj'jh, 
But  no  man  knows  the  tongue. 

Oh,  fair,  they  say,  was  his  bride  to  &.'ee, 
And  wilful  she  must  have  been. 
That  she  could  bide  at  his  gruesome  side 
When  the  first  red  dawn  came  in. 

And  sweet,  they  say,  is  her  kiss  to  those 
She  greets  to  his  border  home; 
And  softer  than  sleep  her  hand's  first  sweep 
That  beckons,  and  they  come. 

xo 


The  Gravedigger 

Oh,  crooked  is  he,  but  strong  enough 
To  handle  the  tallest  mast; 
From  the  royal  barque  to  the  slaver  dark, 
He  buries  them  all  at  last. 

Then  hoy  and  rip,  with  a  rolling  hip, 

He  makes  for  the  nearest  shore; 

And  God,  who  sent  him  a  thousand  ship, 

Will  send  him  a  thousand  more; 

But  some  he'll  save  for  a  bleaching  grave. 

And  shoulder  them  in  to  shore, — 

Shoulder  them  in,  shoulder  them  in, 

Shoulder  them  in  to  shore. 


II 


THE  YULE  GUEST 

And  Yanna  by  the  3rule  log 
Sat  in  the  empty  hall, 
And  watched  the  goblin  firelight 
Caper  upon  the  wall: 

The  goblins  of  the  hearthstone, 
Who  teach  the  wind  to  sing, 
Who  dance  the  frozen  )nile  away 
And  usher  back  the  spring; 

The  goblins  of  the  Northland, 
Who  teach  the  gulls  to  scream. 
Who  dance  the  autumn  into  dust. 
The  ages  into  dream. 
ta 


The  Yule  Guest 

Like  the  tall  com  was  Yanna, 
Bending  and  smooth  and  fair, — 
His  Yanna  of  the  sea-gray  eyes 
And  harvest-yellow  hair. 

Child  of  the  low-voiced  people 
Who  dwell  among  the  hills, 
She  had  the  lonely  calm  and  poise 
.Of  life  that  waits  and  wills. 

Only  to-night  a  little 
With  grave  regard  she  smiled. 
Remembering  the  mom  she  woke 
And  ceased  to  be  a  child. 

Outside,  the  ghostly  rampikes. 
Those  armies  of  the  moon. 
Stood  while  the  ranks  of  stars  drew  on 
To  that  more  spacious  noon, — 

13 


The  YuU  Guest 

While  over  them  in  silence 
Waved  on  the  dusk  afar 
The  gold  flags  of  the  Northern  light 
Streaming  with  ancient  war. 

And  when  below  the  headland 
The  riders  of  the  foam 
Up  from  the  misty  border  rode 
The  wild  gray  horses  home, 

And  woke  the  wintry  mountains 
With  thunder  on  the  shore, 
Out  of  the  night  there  came  a  weird 
And  cried  at  Yanna's  door. 

''O  Yanna,  Adrianna, 
They  buried  me  away 
In  the  blue  fathoms  of  the  deep, 
Beyond  the  outer  bay. 

14 


Thi  Yule  Guest 

"But  in  the  yule,  O  Yanna, 
Up  from  the  round  dim  sea 
And  reeling  dungeons  of  the  fog, 
I  am  come  back  to  thee!" 

The  wind  slept  in  the  forest. 
The  moon  was  white  and  high, 
Only  the  shifting  snow  awoke 
To  hear  the  3rule  guest  cry. 

"O  Yanna,  Yanna,  Yanna, 
Be  quick  and  let  me  in! 
For  bitter  is  the  trackless  way 
And  far  that  I  have  been!" 

Then  Yanna  by  the  yule  log 
Starts  from  her  dream  to  hear 
A  voice  that  bids  her  brooding  heart 
Shudder  with  joy  and  fear. 

IS 


The  Yule  Guest 

The  wind  is  up  a  moment 
And  whistles  at.  the  eaves, 
And  in  his  troubled  iron  dream 
The  ocean  moans  and  heaves. 

She  trembles  at  the  door-lock 
That  he  is  come  again, 
And  frees  the  wooden  bolt  for  one 
No  barrier  could  detain. 

"O  Garvin,  bonny  Garvin, 

So  late,  so  late  you  come!" 

The  yule  log  crumbles  down  and  throws 

Strange  figures  on  the  gloom; 

But  in  the  moonlight  pouring 
Through  the  half-open  door 
Stands  the  gray  guest  of  yule  and  casts 
No  shadow  on  the  floor. 

i6 


The  Yule  Gtiest 

The  cLange  that  is  upon  him 
She  knows  not  in  her  haste; 
About  him  her  strong  arms  with  glad 
Impetuous  tears  are  laced. 

She's  led  him  to  the  fireside, 

And  set  the  wide  oak  chair, 

And  with  her  warm  hands  brushed  away 

The  sea-rime  from  his  hair. 

"O  Garvin,  I  have  waited, — 
Have  watched  the  red  sun  sink. 
And  clouds  of  sail  come  flocking  in 
Over  the  world's  gray  brink, 

"With  stories  of  encounter 
On  plank  and  mast  and  spar; 
But  never  the  brave  barque  I  launched 
And  waved  across  the  bar. 
c  17 


The  Yule  Guest 

"How  come  you  so  unsignallcd. 
When  I  have  watched  so  well? 
Where  rides  the  Adrianna 
With  my  name  on  boat  and  bcll?'» 

"O  Yanna,  golden  Yanna, 

The  Adrianna  lies 

With  the  sea  dredging  through  her  ports, 

The  white  sand  through  her  eyes, 

"And  strange  unearthly  creatures 
Make  marvel  of  her  hull, 
Where  far  below  the  gulfs  of  storm 
There  is  eternal  lull. 

"O  Yanna,  Adrianna, 
This  midnight  I  am  here. 
Because  one  night  of  all  my  life 
At  yule  tide  of  the  year, 

i8 


The  Yule  Guest 

*'With  the  stars  white  in  heaven, 
And  peace  upon  the  sea. 
With  all  my  world  in  your  white  arms 
You  gave  yourself  to  me. 

"For  that  one  night,  my  Yanna, 
Within  the  dying  year, 
Was  it  not  well  to  love,  and  now 
Can  it  be  well  to  fear?" 

"O  Garvin,  there  is  heartache 
In  tales  that  are  half  told; 
But  ah,  thy  cheek  is  pale  to-night, 
And  thy  poor  hands  are  cold! 

"Tell  me  the  course,  the  voyage. 
The  ports,  and  the  new  stars; 
Did  the  long  rollers  make  green  surf 
On  the  white  reefs  and  bars?" 

»9 


The  Yule  Guest 

<*Q  Yanna,  Adrianna, 
Though  easily  I  found 
The  set  of  those  uncharted  tides 
In  seas  no  line  could  sound, 

"And  made  without  a  pilot 
The  port  without  a  light, 
Nq  log  keeps  tally  of  the  knots 
That  I  have  sailed  to-night 

"It  fell  about  mid-April; 
The  Trades  were  holding  free; 
We  drove  her  till  the  scuppers  hissed 
And  buried  in  the  lee. 

• 

"O  Yanna,  Adrianna, 
Loose  hands  and  let  me  go! 
The  night  grows  red  along  the  East, 
And  in  the  shifting  snow 

20 


The  Yule  Guest 

"I  hear  my  shipmates  calling. 
Sent  out  to  search  for  me 
In  the  pale  lands  beneath  the  moon 
Along  the  troubling  sea." 

"O  Garvin,  bonny  Garvin, 
What  is  the  booming  sound 
Of  canvas,  and  the  piping  shrill, 
As  when  a  ship  comes  round?" 

''It  is  the  shadow  boatswain 
Piping  his  hands  to  bend 
The  looming  sails  on  giant  yards 
Aboard  the  Nomansfriend. 

"She  sails  for  Sunken  Harbor 
And  ports  of  yester  year; 
The  tern  are  shrilling  in  the  lift. 
The  low  wind-gates  are  clear. 

31 


Thi  YuU  Guist 

"O  Yanna,  Adrianna, 

The  little  while  is  done. 

Thou  wilt  behold  the  brightening  sea 

Freshen  before  the  sun, 

''And  many  a  morning  redden 
The  dark  hill  slopes  of  pine; 
But  I  must  sail  hull-down  to-night 
Below  the  gray  sea-line. 

"  I  shall  not  hear  the  snowbirds 
Their  morning  litany. 
For  when  the  dawn  comes  over  dale 
I  must  put  out  to  sea." 

"O  Garvin,  bonny  Garvin, 
To  have  thee  as  I  will, 
I  would  that  never  more  on  earth 
The  dawn  came  over  hill." 


Thi  Yule  Guest 


Then  on  the  snowy  pillow, 
Her  hair  about  her  face, 
He  laid  her  in  the  quiet  room, 
And  wiped  away  all  trace 

Of  tears  from  the  poor  eyelids 
That  were  so  sad  for  him, 
And  soothed  her  into  sleep  at  last 
As  the  great  stars  grew  dim. 

Tender  as  April  twilight 

He  sang,  and  the  song  grew 

Vague  as  the  dreams  which  roam  about 

This  world  of  dust  and  dew: 

''O  Yanna,  Adrianna, 
Dear  Love,  look  forth  to  sea 
And  all  year  long  until  the  3rule, 
Dear  Heart,  keep  watch  for  me  I 

a3 


The  Yule  Guest 

"O  Yanna,  Adrianna, 

I  hear  the  calling  sea, 

And  the  folk  telling  tales  among 

The  hills  where  I  would  be. 

"O  Yanna,  Adrianna, 

Over  the  hills  of  sea 

The  wind  calls  and  the  morning  comes, 

And  I  must  forth  from  thee. 

"But  Yanna,  Adrianna, 
Keep  watch  above  the  sea; 
And  when  the  weary  time  is  o'«;r. 
Dear  Life,  come  back  to  me!" 

"O  Garvin,  bonny  Garvin — " 
She  murmurs  in  her  dream. 
And  smiles  a  moment  in  her  sleep 
To  hear  the  white  gulls  scream. 

24 


The  Yule  Guest 

Then  wit|i  the  storm  foreboding 
Far  in  the  dim  gray  South, 
He  kissed  her  not  upon  the  cheek 
Nor  on  the  burning  mouth, 

But  once  above  the  forehead 
Before  he  turned  away; 
And  ere  the  morning  light  stole  in, 
That  golden  lock  was  gray. 

"O  Yanna,  Adrianna^" 
The  wind  moans  to  the  sea; 
And  down  the  sluices  of  the  dawn 
A  shadow  drifts  alee. 


n 


THE  MARRING  OF  MALYN 


THE  MERRYMAKERS 

Among  the  wintry  mountains  beside  the  Northern  sea 
There  is  a  merrymaking,  as  old  as  old  can  be. 

Over  the  river  reaches,  over  the  wastes  of  snow, 
Halting  at  every  doorway,  the  white  drifts  come  and  go. 

They  scour  upon  the  open,  and  mass  along  the  wood, 
The  burliest  invaders  that  ever  man  withstood. 

With  swoop  and  whirl  and  scurry,  these  riders  of  the 
drift 

»6 


The  Merrymakers 

Will  mount  and  wheel  and  column,  and  pass  into  the 
lift. 

All  night  upon  the  marshes  you  hear  their  tread  go  by. 
And  all  night  long  the  streamers  are  dancing  on  the 
sky. 

Their  light  in  Malyn's  chamber  is  pale  upon  the  floor, 
And  Malyn  of  the  mountains  is  theirs  for  evermore. 

She  fancies  them  a  people  in  saffron  and  in  green, 
Dancing  for  her.    For  Malyn  is  only  seventeen. 

Out  there  beyond  her  window,  from  frosty  deep  to  deep. 
Her  heart  is  dancing  with  them  until  she  falls  asleep. 

Then  all  night  long  through  heaven,  with  stately  to 

and  fro. 
To  music  of  no  measure,  the  gorgeous  dancers  go. 

27 


Tke  Merrymakers 

The  stars  are  great  and  splendid,  beryl  and  gold  and 

blue, 
And  there  are  dreams  for  Malyn  that  never  will  come 

true. 

Yet  for  one  golden  Yule-tide  their  royal  guest  is  she, 
Among  the  wintry  mountains  beside  the  Northern  sea. 


28 


II 

A  SAILOR'S  WEDDING 

There  is  a  Norland  laddie  who  sails  the  round  sea- 
rim, 

And  Malyn  of  the  mountains  is  all  the  world  to  him. 

The  Master  of  the  Snowflake,  bound  upward  from  the 
line. 

He  smothers  her  with   canvas   along  the  crumbling 
brine. 

He  crowds  her  till  she  buries  and  shudders  from  his 
hand, 

For  in  the  angry  sunset  the  watch  has  sighted  land; 

And  he  will  brook  no  gainsay  who  goes  to  meet  his 
bride. 

29 


A  Sailor* s  Wedding 

But  their  will  is  the  wind's  will  who  traffic  on  the 

tide. 
Make  home,  my  bonny  schooner!    The  sun  goes  down 

to  light 
The   gusty  crimson  wind-halls  against  the   wedding 

night. 

She  gathers  up  the  distance,  and  grows  and  veers  and 

swings, 
Like    any    homing    swallow    with    nightfall    in    her 

wings. 
The  wind's  white  sources  glimmer  with  shining  gusts 

of  rain; 
And  in  the  Ardise  country  the  spring  comes  back 

again. 
It  is  the  brooding  April,  haunted  and  sad  and  dear, 
When  vanished  things  return  not  with  the  returning 

year. 

30 


A  Sailor* s  Wedding 

Only,  when  evening  purples  the  light  in  Malyn's  dale. 
With  sound  of  brooks  and  robins,  by  many  a  hidden 

trail, 
With  stir  of  lulling  rivers  along  the  forest  floor. 
The  dream-folk  of  the  gloaming  come  back  to  Malyn's 

door. 
The  dusk  is  long  and  gracious,  and  far  up  in  the  sky 
You  hear  the  chimney-swallows  twitter  and  scurry  by. 
The  hyacinths  are  lonesome  and  white   in  Malyn's 

room; 
And  out  at  sea  the  Snowflake  is  driving  through  the 

gloom. 
The  whitecaps   froth  and   freshen;  in  squadrons  of 

white  surge 
They  thunder  on  to  ruin,  and  smoke  along  the  verge. 
The  lift  is  black  above  them,  the  sea  is  mirk  below. 
And  down  the  world's  wide   border  they  perish  as 

they  go. 

31 


A  Sailor* s  Wedding 

They  comb  and  seethe  and  founder,  they  mount  and 

glimmer  and  flee, 
Amid  the  awful  sobbing  and  quailing  of  the  sea. 
They  sheet  the  flying  schooner  in  foam  from  stem  to 

stern. 
Till  every  yard  of  canvas  is  drenched  from  clew  to 

ear'n'. 
And  where  they  move  uneasy,  chill  is  the  light  and 

pale; 
They  are  the  Skipper's  daughters,  who  dance  before 

the  gale. 
They  revel  with  the  Snowflake,  and  down  the  close 

of  day 
Among  the  boisterous  dancers  she  holds  her  dancing 

way; 
And  then  the  dark  has  kindled  the  harbor  light  alee. 
With  stars  and  wind  and  sea-room  upon  the  gurly 

sea. 

32 


A  Sailor's  Wedding 

The  storm  gets  up  to  windward  to  heave  and  clang 

and  brawl; 
The  dancers  of  the  open  begin  to  moan  and  call. 
A  lure  is  in  their  dancing,  a  weird  is  in  their  song; 
The  snow-white  Skipper's  daughters  are  stronger  than 

the  strong. 
They  love  the  Norland  sailor  who  dares  the  rough 

sea  play; 
Their  arms  are  white  and  splendid  to  beckon  him  away. 
They  promise  him,  for  kisses  a  moment  at  their  lips. 
To  make  before  the  morning  the  port  of  missing  ships, 
Where  men  put  in  for  shelter,  and  dreams  put  forth 

again, 
And  the  great  sea-winds  follow  the  journey  of  the  rain. 
A  bridal  with  no  morrow,  no  welling  of  old  tears, 
For  him,  and  no  more  tidings  of  the  departed  years! 
For  there  of  old  were  fashioned  the  chambers  cool 

and  dim, 
D  33 


A  Sailor's  Wedding 

In  the  eternal  silence  below  the  twilight's  rim. 

The  borders  of  that  country  are  slumberous  and  wide; 

And  they  are  well  who  marry  the  fondlers  of  the  tide. 

Within  their  arms  immortal,  no  mortal  fear  can  be; 

But  Malyn  of  the  mountains  is  fairer  than  the  sea. 

And  so  the  scudding  Snowflake  flies  with  the  wind 
astern, 

And  through  the  boding  twilight  are  blown  the  shrill- 
ing tern. 

The  light  is  on  the  headland,  the  harbor  gate  is  wide; 

But  rolling  in  with  ruin  the  fog  is  on  the  tide. 

Fate  like  a  muffled  steersman  sails  with  that  Norland 
gloom; 

The  Snowflake  in  the  offing  is  neck  and  neck  with 
doom. 

Ha,  ha,  my  saucy  cruiser,  crowd  up  your  helm  and  run ! 

There'll  be  a  merrymaking  to-morrow  in  the  sun. 

A  cloud  of  straining  canvas,  a  roar  of  breaking  foam, 

34 


A  Sailor* s  Wedding 

The  Snowflake  and  the  sea-drift  are  racing  in  for 

home. 
Her  heart  is  dancing  shoreward,  but  silently  and  pale 
The  swift  relentless  phantom  is  hungering  on  her  trail. 
They  scour  and  fly  together,  until  across  the  roar 
He  signals  for  a  pilot — and  Death  puts  out  from  shore. 
A  moment  Malyn's  window  is  gleaming  in  the  lee, 
And  then — the  ghost  of  wreckage  upon  the  iron  sea. 

Ah,  Malyn,  lay  your  forehead  upon  your  folded  arm, 
And  hear  the  grim  marauder  shake  out  the  reefs  of 

storm ! 
Loud  laughs  the  surly  Skipper  to  feel  the  fog  drive  in, 
Because  a  blue-eyed  sailor  shall  wed  his  kith  and  kin. 
And  the  red  dawn  discover  a  rover  spent  for  breath 
Among  the  merrymakers  who  fondle  him  to  death. 
And  all  the  snowy  sisters  are  dancing  wild  and  grand. 
For  him  whose  broken  beauty  shall  slacken  to  their  hand. 

35 


A  Sailor's  Wedding 

They  wanton  in  their  triumph,  and  skirl  at  Malyn'i 

plight; 
Lift  up  their  hands  in  chorus,  and  thunder  to  the 

night. 
The  gulls  are  driven  inland;  but  on  the  dancing  tide 
The  master  of  the  Snowflake  is  taken  to  his  bride. 

And  there  when  daybreak  yellows  along  the  far  sea- 
plain. 

The  fresh  and  buoyant  morning  comes  down  the  wind 
again. 

The  world  is  glad  of  April,  the  gulls  are  wild  with  glee. 

And  Malyn  on  the  headland  alone  looks  out  to  sea. 

Once  more  diat  gray  Shipmaster  smiles,  for  the  night 
is  done, 

And  all  his  snow-white  daughters  are  dancing  in  the  sun. 


36 


Ill 

THE  LIGHT  ON  THE  MARSH 

The  year  grows  on  to  harvest,  the  tawny  lilies  bum 
Along  the  marsh,  and  hillward  the  roads  are  sweet 

with  fern. 
All  day  the  windless  heaven  pavilions  the  sea-blue, 
Then  twilight  comes  and  drenches  the  sultry  dells  with 

dew. 
The  lone  white  star  of  evening  comes  out  among  the 

hills. 
And  in  the  darkling  forest  begin  the  whip-poor-wills. 
The  fireflies  that  wander,  the  hawks  that  flit  and  scream. 
And  all  the  wilding  vagrants  of  summer  dusk  and 

drea-ti, 

37 


The  Light  on  the  Marsh 

Have  all  their  will,  and  reck  not  of  any  after  thing, 
Inheriting  no  sorrow  and  no  foreshadowing. 
The  wind  forgets  to  whisper,  the  pines  forget  to  moan. 
And  Malyn  of  the  mountains  is  there  amorg  her  own. 
Malyn,  whom  grief  nor  wonder  can  trouble  nevermore. 
Since  that  spring  night  the   Snowflake  was  wrecked 

beside  her  door. 
And  strange  her  cry  went  seaward  once,  and  her  soul 

thereon 
With  the  vast  lonely  sea-winds,  a  wanderer,  was  gone. 
But  she,  that  patient  beauty  which  is  her  body  fair. 
Endures  on  earth  still  lovely,  untenanted  of  care. 
The  folk  down  at  the  harbor  pity  from  day  to  day; 
With  a  "God  save  you,  Malyn!"  they  bid  her  on  her 

way. 
She  smiles,  poor  feckless  Malyn,  the  knowing  smile 

of  those 
Whom  the  too  sudden  vision  God  sometimes  may  disclose 

38 


The  Light  on  the  Marsh 

Of  his  wild,  lurid  world-wreck,  has  blinded  with  its 

sheen. 
Then,  with  a  fond  insistence,  pathetic  and  serene, 
They  pass  among  their  fellows  for  lost  minds  none  can 

save. 
Bent  on  their  single  business,  and  marvel  why  men  rave. 
NoAV  far  away  a  sighing  comes  from  the  buried  reef, 
As  though  the  sea  were  mourning  above  an  ancient 

grief. 
For  once  the  restless  Mother  of  all  the  weary  lands 
Went  down  to  him  in  beauty,  with  trouble  in  her  hands. 
And  gave  to  him  forever  all  memory  to  keep. 
But  to  her  wajnvard  children  oblivion  and  sleep, 
That  no  immortal  burden  might  plague  one  living  thing. 
But  death  should  sweetly  visit  us  vagabonds  of  spring. 
And  so  his  heart  forever  goes  inland  with  the  tide. 
Searching  with  many  voices  among  the  marshes  wide. 
Under  the  quiet  starlight,  up  through  the  stirring  reeds, 

39 


The  Light  on  the  Marsh 

With  whispering  and  lamenting  it  rises  and  recedes. 

All  night  the  lapsing  rivers  croon  to  their  shingly  bars 

The  wizardries  that  mingle  the  sea-wind  and  the  stars. 

And  all  night  long  wherever  the  moving  waters  gleam, 

The  little  hills  hearken,  hearken,  the  great  hills  hear 
and  dream. 

And  Malyn  keeps  the  marshes  all  the  sweet  summer 
night, 

Alone,  foot-free,  to  follow  a  wandering  wisp-light. 

For  every  day  at  sundown,  at  the  first  beacon's  gleam, 

She  calls  the  gulls  her  brothers  and  keeps  a  tryst  with 
them. 

"O  gulls,  white  gulls,  what  see  you  beyond  the  slop- 
ing blue? 

And  where  .away's  the  Snowflake,  she's  so  long  over- 
due?" 

Then,  as  the  gloaming  settles,  the  hilltop  stars  emerge 

And  watch  that  plaintive  figure  patrol  the  dark  sea  verge. 

40 


The  Light  on  the  Marsh 

She  follows  the  marsh  tire;  her  heart  laughs  and  is  glad; 

She  knows  that  light  to  seaward  is  her  own  sailor  lad ! 

What  are  these  tales  they  tell  her  of  wreckage  on  the 
shore? 

Delay  but  makes  his  coming  the  nearer  than  before! 

Surely  her  eyes  have  sighted  his  schooner  in  the  lift  I 

But  the  great  tide  he  homes  on  sets  with  an  outward 
drift. 

So  will-o'-the-wisp  deludes  her  till  dawn,  and  she 
turns  home 

In  unperturbed  assurance,  "To-morrow  he  will  come." 

This  is  the  tale  of  Malyn,  whom  sudden  grief  so 
marred. 

And  still  each  lovely  summer  resumes  that  sweet  re- 
gard,— 

The  old  unvexed  eternal  indifference  to  pain; 

The  sea  sings  in  the  marshes,  and  June  comes  back 
again. 

41 


The  Light  on  the  Marsh 

All  night  the  lapsing  rivers  lisp  in  the  long  dike  grass, 
And  many  memories  whisper  the  sea-winds  as  they 

pass; 
The  tides  disturb  the  silence;  but  not  a  hindrance 

bars 
The  wash  of  time,  where  founder  even  the  galleon 

stars. 
And  all  night  long  wherever  the  moving  waters  gleam, 
The  little  hills  hearken,  hearken,  the  great  hills  hear 

and  dream. 


4a 


THE  NANCY'S  PRIDE 

On  the  long  slow  heave  of  a  lazy  sea, 
To  the  flap  of  an  idle  sail, 
The  Nancy's  Pride  went  out  on  the  tide; 
And  the  skipper  stood  by  the  rail. 

All  down,  all  down  by  the  sleepy  town, 
With  the  hollyhocks  a-row 
In  the  little  poppy  gardens. 
The  sea  had  her  in  tow. 

They  let  her  slip  by  the  breathing  rip, 
Where  the  bell  is  never  still, 
And  over  the  sounding  harbor  bar. 
And  under  the  harbor  hill. 

43 


The  Nancy* 5  Pride 

She  melted  into  the  dreaming  noon, 
Out  of  the  drowsy  land, 
In  sight  of  a  flag  of  goldy  hair. 
To  the  kiss  of  a  girlish  hand. 

For  the  lass  who  hailed  the  lad  who  sailed, 
Was — who  but  his  April  bride? 
And  of  all  the  fleet  of  Grand  Latite, 
Her  pride  was  the  Nancy's  Pride. 

So  the  little  vessel  faded  down 

With  her  creaking  boom  a-swing, 

Till  a  wind  from  the  deep  came  up  with  a  creep, 

And  caught  her  wing  and  wing. 

She  made  for  the  lost  horizon  line, 
Where  the  clouds  a-castled  lay, 
While  the  boil  and  seethe  of  the  open  sea 
Hung  on  her  frothing  way. 

44 


The  Nancys  Pride 

She  lifted  her  hull  like  a  breasting  gull 
Where  the  rolling  valleys  be, 
And  dipped  where  the  shining  porpoises 
Put  ploughshares  through  the  sea. 

A  fading  sail  on  the  far  sea-line, 

About  the  turn  of  the  tide, 

As  she  made  for  the  Banks  on  her  maiden  cruise. 

Was  the  last  of  the  Nancy's  Pride. 

To-day  a  boy  with  goldy  hair. 

In  a  garden  of  Grand  Latite, 

From  his  mother's  knee  looks  out  to  sea 

For  the  coming  of  the  fleet. 

They  all  may  home  on  a  sleepy  tide, 
To  the  flap  of  the  idle  sail; 
But  it's  never  again  the  Nancy's  Pride 
That  answers  a  human  hail. 

45 


,  The  Nancys  Pride 

They  all  may  home  on  a  sleepy  tide 
To  the  sag  of  an  idle  sheet; 
But  it's  never  again  the  Nancy's  Pride 
That  draws  men  down  the  street. 

On  the  Banks  to-night  a  fearsome  sight 
The  fishermen  behold, 
Keeping  the  ghost  watch  in  the  moon 
When  the  small  hours  are  cold. 

When  ihe  light  wind  veers,  and  the  white  fog  clears, 

They  see  by  the  after  rail 

An  unknown  schooner  creeping  up 

With  mildewed  spar  and  sail. 

Her  crew  lean  forth  by  the  rotting  shrouds, 

With  the  Judgment  in  their  face; 

And  to  their  mates'  "God  save  youl" 

Have  never  a  word  of  grace. 

46 


The  Nancy's  Pride 

Then  into  the  gray  they  sheer  away, 

On  the  awful  polar  tide; 

And  the  sailors  know  they  have  seen  the  wraith 

Of  the  missing  Nancy's  Pride. 


47 


ARNOLD,   MASTER  OF  THE  SCUD 

There's  a  schooner  out  from  Kingsport, 
Through  the  morning's  dazzle-gleam. 
Snoring  down  the  Bay  of  Fundy 
With  a  norther  on  her  beam. 

How  the  tough  wind  springs  to  wrestle, 
When  the  tide  is  on  the  flood! 
And  between  them  stands  young  daring  — 
Arnold,  master  of  the  Scud. 

He  is  only  "Martin's  youngster," 
To  the  Minas  coasting  fleet, 
"Twelve  year  old,  and  full  of  Satan 
As  a  nut  is  full  of  meat/' 

48 


Arnold,  Master  of  the  Scud 

With  a  wake  of  froth  behind  hinii 
And  the  gold  green  waste  before, 
Just  as  though  the  sea  this  morning 
Were  his  boat  pond  by  the  door. 

Legs  a-straddle,  grips  the  tiller 
This  young  waif  of  the  old  sea; 
When  the  wind  comes  harder,  only 
Laughs  '' Hurrah  1"  and  holds  her  free. 

Little  wonder,  as  you  watch  him 
With  the  dash  in  his  blue  eye, 
Long  ago  his  father  called  him 
''Arnold,  Master,"  on  the  sly. 

While  his  mother's  heart  foreboded 
Reckless  father  makes  rash  son. 
So  to-day  the  schooner  carries 
Just  these  two  whose  will  is  one. 
B  49 


Arnold,  Master  of  the  Scud 

Now  the  wind  grows  moody,  shifting 
Point  by  point  into  the  east. 
Wing  and  wing  the  Scud  is  flying 
With  her  scuppers  full  of  yeast. 

And  the  father's  older  wisdom 
On  the  sea-line  has  descried, 
Like  a  stealthy  cloud-bank  making 
Up  to  windward  with  the  tide, 

Those  tall  navies  of  disaster. 
The  pale  squadrons  of  the  fog, 
That  maraud  this  gray  world  border 
Without  pilot,  chart,  or  log. 

Ranging  wanton  as  marooners 
From  Minudie  to  Manan. 
"Heave  to,  and  we'll  reef,  my  master!" 
Cries  he;  when  no  will  of  man 

50 


Arnold,  Master  of  the  Scud 

Spills  the  foresail,  but  a  clumsy 
Wind-flaw  with  a  hand  like  stone 
Hurls  the  boom  round.    In  an  instant 
Amoldf  Master,  there  alone 

Sees  a  crushed  corpse  shot  to  seaward, 
With  the  gray  doom  in  its  face; 
And  the  climbing  foam  receives  it 
To  its  everlasting  place. 

What  does  Arnold,  Master,  think  you? 
Whimper  like  a  child  for  dread? 
That's  not  Arnold.    Foulest  weather 
Strongest  sailors  ever  bred. 

And  this  slip  of  taut  sea-faring 
Grows  a  man  who  throttles  fear. 
Let  the  storm  and  dark  in  spite  now 
Do  their  worst  with  valor  here! 

SI 


Arnold,  Master  of  the  Scud 

Not  a  reef  and  not  a  shiver, 
While  the  wind  jeers  in  her  shrouds, 
And  the  flauts  of  foam  and  sea-fog 
Swarm  upon  her  deck  in  crowds, 

Flies  the  Scud  like  a  mad  racer; 
And  with  iron  in  his  frown, 
Holding  hard  by  wrath  and  dreadnought, 
Arnold,  Master,  rides  her  down. 

Let  the  taffrail  shriek  through  foam-heads! 
Let  the  licking  seas  go  glut 
Elsewhere  their  old  hunger,  bafHedl 
Arnold's  making  for  the  Gut. 

Cleft  sheer  down,  the  sea-v/all  mountains 
Give  that  one  port  on  the  coast; 
Made,  the  Basiii  lies  in  sunshine! 
Missed,  the  little  Scud  is  lost! 

5« 


Arnold,  Master  of  the  Scud 

Come  now,  fog-horn,  let  your  warning 
Rip  the  wind  to  starboard  there! 
Suddenly  that  burly-throated 
Welcome  ploughs  the  cumbered  air. 

The  young  master  hauls  a  little, 
Crowds  her  up  and  sheets  her  home, 
Heading  for  the  narrow  entry 
Whence  the  safety  signals  come. 

Then  the  wind  lulls,  and  an  eddy 
Tells  of  ledges,  where  away; 
Veers  the  Scud,  sheet  free,  sun  breaking. 
Through  the  rifts,  and  —  there's  the  bay! 

Like  a  bird  in  from  the  storm-beat. 
As  the  summer  sun  goes  down. 
Slows  the  schooner  to  her  moorings 
By  the  wharf  at  Digby  town. 

53 


Arnold,  Master  of  the  Scud 

All  the  world  next  morning  wondered. 
Largest  letters,  there  it  stood, 
"Storm  in  Fundy.     A  Boy's  Daring. 
Arnold,  Master  of  the  Scud.'* 


54 


THE  SHIPS  OF  ST.   JOHN 

Smile,  you  inland  hills  and  rivers! 
Flush,  you  mountains  in  the  dawn! 
But  my  roving  heart  is  seaward 
With  the  ships  of  gray  St.  John. 

Fair  the  land  lies,  full  of  August, 
Meadow  island,  shingly  bar, 
Open  bams  and  breezy  twilight, 
Peace  and  the  mild  evening  star. 

Gently  now  this  gentlest  country 
The  old  habitude  takes  on. 
But  my  wintry  heart  is  outbound 
With  the  great  ships  of  St.  John. 

55 


The  Ships  of  St.  John 

Once  in  your  wide  arms  you  held  me, 
Till  the  man-child  was  a  man, 
Canada,  great  nurse  and  mother 
Of  the  young  sea-roving  clan. 

Always  your  bright  face  above  me 
Through  the  dreams  of  boyhood  shone; 
Now  far  alien  countries  call  me 
With  the  ships  of  gray  St.  John. 

Swing,  you  tides,  up  out  of  Fundy! 
Blow,  you  white  fogs,  in  from  sea! 
I  was  born  to  be  your  fellow; 
You  were  bred  to  pilot  me. 

At  the  touch  of  your  strong  fingers. 
Doubt,  the  derelict,  is  gone; 
Sane  and  glad  I  clear  the  headland 
With  the  white  ships  of  St.  John. 

56 


The  Ships  of  St.  John 

LoyalistSi  my  fathers,  builded 
This  gray  port  of  the  gray  sea, 
When  the  duty  to  ideals 
Could  not  let  well-being  be. 

When  the  breadth  of  scarlet  bunting 
Puts  the  wreath  of  maple  on, 
I  must  cheer  too, —  slip  my  moorings 
With  the  ships  of  gray  St.  John. 

* 

Peerless-hearted  port  of  heroes. 
Be  a  word  to  lift  the  world, 
Till  the  many  see  the  signal 
Of  the  few  once  more  unfurled. 

Past  the  lighthouse,  past  the  nunbuoy. 
Past  the  crimson  rising  sun. 
There  are  dreams  go  down  the  harbor 
With  the  tall  ships  of  St.  John. 

57 


The  Ships  of  St.  John 

In  the  morning  I  am  with  them 
As  they  clear  the  island  bar, — 
Fade,  till  speck  by  speck  the  midday 
Has  forgotten  where  they  are. 

But  I  sight  a  vaster  sea-line, 
Wider  lee-way,  longer  run, 
Whose  discoverers  return  not 
With  the  ships  of  gray  St.  John. 


S8 


THE  KING  OF  YS 

Wild  across  the  Breton  country, 
Fabled  centuries  ago, 
Riding  from  the  black  sea  border, 
Came  the  squadrons  of  the  snow. 

Piping  dread  at  every  latch-hole. 
Moaning  death  at  every  sill, 
The  white  Yule  came  down  ii;i  vengeance 
Upon  Ys,  and  had  its  will. 

Walled  and  dreamy  stood  the  city. 
Wide  and  dazzling  shone  the  sea. 
When  the  gods  set  hand  to  smother 
Ys,  the  pride  of  Brittany. 

S9 


The  King  of  Ys 

Morning  drenched  her  towers  in  purple; 
Light  of  heart  were  king  and  fool; 
Fair  forebode  the  merrymaking 
Of  the  seven  days  of  Yule. 

Laughed  the  king,  ''Once  more,  my  mistress, 
Time  and  place  and  joy  are  one!" 
Bade  the  balconies  with  banners 
Match  the  splendor  of  the  sun; 

Eyes  of  urchins  shine  with  silver, 
And  with  gold  the  pavement  ring; 
Bade  the  war-horns  sound  their  bravest 
In  The  Mistress  of  the  King* 

Mountebanks  and  ballad-mongers 
And  all  strolling  traffickers 
Should  block  up  the  market  comers 
With  none  other  name  than  hers. 

60 


The  King  of  Ys 

Laughed  the  fool,  "To-day,  my  Folly, 
Thou  Shalt  be  the  king  of  Ys!" 
O  wise  fool!    How  long  must  wisdom 
Under  motley  hold  her  peace? 

Then  the  storm  came  down.    The  valleys 
Wailed  and  ciphered  to  the  dune 
Like  huge  organ  pipes;  a  midnight 
Stalked  those  gala  streets  at  noon; 

And  the  sea  rose,  rocked  and  tilted 
Like  a  beaker  in  the  hand. 
Till  the  moon-hung  tide  broke  tether 
And  stampeded  in  for  land. 

All  day  long  with  doom  portentous. 
Shreds  of  pennons  shrieked  and  flew 
Over  Ys;  and  black  fear  shuddered 
On  the  hearthstone  all  night  through. 

6i 


The  King  of  Ys 

Fear,  which  freezes  up  the  marrow 
Of  the  heart,  from  door  to  door 
Like  a  plague  went  through  the  city, 
And  filled  up  the  devil's  score; 

Filled  her  tally  of  the  craven, 
To  the  sea-wind's  dismal  note; 
While  a  panic  superstition 
Took  the  people  by  the  throat. 

As  with  morning  still  the  sea  rose 
With  vast  wreckage  on  the  tide. 
And  their  pasture  rills,  grown  rivers. 
Thundered  in  the  mountain  side, 

"Vengeance,  vengeance,  gods  to  vengeance!" 
Rose  a  storm  of  muttering; 
And  the  human  flood  came  pouring 
To  the  palace  of  the  king. 

62 


The  King  of  Ys 

''Save,  O  king,  before  we  perish 

In  the  whirlpools  of  the  sea, 

Ys  thy  city,  us  thy  people!" 

Growled  the  king  then,  "What  would  ye?" 

But  his  wolf's  eyes  talked  defiance, 
And  his  bearded  mouth  meant  scorn. 
"O  our  king,  the  gods  are  angry; 
And  no  longer  to  be  borne 

"Is  the  shameless  face  that  greets  us 
From  thy  windows,  at  thy  side. 
Smiling  infamy.     And  therefore 
Thou  shalt  take  her  up,  and  ride 

"Down  with  her  into  the  sea's  mouth. 
And  there  leave  her;  else  we  die, 
And  thy  name  goes  down  to  story 
A  new  word  for  cruelty." 

63 


The  King  of  Ys 

Ah,  but  she  was  fair,  this  wom^^nl 
Warm  and  flaxen  waved  her  hair; 
Her  blue  Breton  eyes  made  summer 
In  that  bleak  December  air. 

There  she  stood  whose  burning  beauty 
Made  the  world's  high  roof  tree  ring, 
A  white  poppy  tall  and  wind-blown 
In  the  garden  of  the  king. 

Her  throat  shook,  but  not  with  terror; 
Her  eyes  swam,  but  not  with  fear; 
While  her  two  hands  caught  and  clung  to 
The  one  man  they  had  found  dear. 

"Lord  and  lover,"  —  thus  she  smiled  him 
Her  last  word, —  "it  shall  be  so, 
Only  the  sea's  arms  shall  hold  me, 
When  from  out  thine  arms  I  go." 

64 


The  King  of  Ys 

Swore  he,  "By  the  gods,  my  mistress, 
Thou  shalt  have  queen's  burial. 
Pearls  and  amber  shall  thy  tomb  be; 
Shot  with  gold  and  green  thy  pall. 

"And  a  million-throated  chorus 
Shall  take  up  thy  dirge  to-night; 
Where  thy  slumber's  starry  watch-fires 
Shall  a  thousand  years  be  bright." 

Then  they  brought  the  coal-black  stallion. 
Chafing  on  the  bit.    Astride 
Sprang  the  young  king;  shouted,  "Way  there!" 
Caught  the  girl  up  to  his  side; 

And  a  path  through  that  scared  rabbit 
Rode  in  pageant  to  the  sea. 
And  the  coal-black  mane  was  mingled 
With  gold  hair  against  his  knee. 
*  6s 


The  King  of  Ys 


Sure  as  the  wild  gulls  make  seaward, 
From  the  west  gate  to  the  beach 
Rode  these  two  for  whom  now  freedom 
Landward  lay  beyond  their  reach. 

And  the  great  horse,  scenting  peril, 
Snorted  at  the  flying  spume, 
Flicked  with  courage,  as  how  often, 
When  the  tides  were  racing  doom, 

Ridden,  he  had  plunged  to  rescue 
From  that  seething  icy  hell 
Some  poor  sailor  wrecked  a-fishing 
On  the  coast.     What  fears  should  quell 

That  high  spirit?    Knee  to  shoulder. 
King  and  stallion  reared  and  sprang 
Clear  above  the  long  white  combers 
And  that  turmoil's  iron  clang. 

66 


The  King  of  Ys 

What  a  launching!    For  a  moment, 
While  the  tempest  held  its  breath 
And  a  thousand  eyes  looked  wonder, 
Swimming  in  chat  trough  of  death, 

Steering  seaward  through  the  welter. 
Ere  they  settled  out  of  sight, 
Waved  above  them  one  gold  streamer. 
Valor,  bid  the  world  good-night!  .  .  . 

Not  a  trace,  while  the  long  summers 
Warm  the  heart  of  Brittany, 
Save  one  stone  of  Ys,  as  remnant. 
For  a  white  mark  in  the  sea. 


67 


THE  KELPIE   RIDERS 


Buried  alive  in  calm  Rochelle, 
Six  in  a  row  by  a  crystal  well, 

All  Summer  long  on  Bareau  Fen 
Slumber  and  sleep  the  Kelpie  men; 

By  the  side  of  each  to  cheer  his  ghost, 
A  flagon  of  foam  with  a  crumpet  of  frost. 

Hear  me,  friends,  for  the  years  are  fleet; 
Soon  I  leave  the  noise  and  the  street 

68 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

For  the  silent  uncompanioned  way 

Where  the  inn  is  cold  and  the  night  is  gray. 

But  noon  is  warm  and  the  world  is  still 
Where  the  Kelpie  riders  have  their  will. 

For  never  a  wind  dare  stir  or  stray 
Over  those  marshes  salt  and  gray; 

No  bit  of  shade  as  big  as  your  hand 
To  traverse  or  trammel  the  sleeping  land, 

Save  where  a  dozen  poplars  fleck 

The  long  gray  grass  and  the  well's  blue  beck. 

Yet  you  mark  their  leaves  are  blanched  and  sear, 
Whispering  daft  at  a  nameless  t  var. 

While  round  the  bole  of  one  is  a  rune, 
Black  in  the  wash  of  the  bleaching  noon. 

69 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

''Ride,  for  the  wind  is  awake  and  away. 
Sleep,  for  the  harvest  grain  is  gray." 

No  word  more.     And  many  a  mile, 
A  ghostly  bivouac  rank  and  file, 

They  sleep  to-day  on  the  marshes  wide; 
Some  far  night  they  will  wake  and  ride. 

Once  they  were  riders  hot  with  speed, 
"Kelpie,  Kelpie,  gallop  at  need!" 

With  hills  of  the  barren  sea  to  roam. 
Housing  their  horses  on  the  foam. 

But  earth  is  cool  and  the  hush  is  long 
Beneath  the  lull  of  the  slumber  song 

The  crickets  falter  and  strive  to  tell 
To  the  dragon-fly  of  the  crystal  well; 

70 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

And  love  is  a  forgotten  jest, 

Where  the  Kelpie  riders  take  their  rest, 

And  blossoming  grasses  hour  by  hour 
Burn  in  the  bud  and  freeze  in  the  flower. 

But  never  again  shall  their  roving  be 
On  the  shifting  hills  of  the  tumbling  sea, 

With  the  salt,  and  the  rain,  and  the  glad  desire 
Strong  as  the  wind  and  pure  as  fire. 


II 

One  doomful  night  in  the  April  tide 
With  riot  of  brooks  on  the  mountain  side, 

The  goblin  maidens  of  the  hills 

Went  forth  to  the  revel-call  of  the  rills. 

71 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

Many  as  leaves  of  the  falling  year, 

To  the  swing  of  a  ballad  wild  and  clear 

They  held  the  plain  and  the  uplands  high; 
And  the  merry-dancers  held  the  sky. 

The  Kelpie  riders  abroad  on  the  sea 
Caught  sound  of  that  call  of  eerie  glee. 

Over  their  prairie  waste  and  wan; 

And  the  goblin  maidens  tolled  them  on. 

The  yellow  eyes  and  the  raven  hair 

And  the  tawny  arms  blown  fresh  and  bare, 

Were  more  than  a  mortal  might  behold 
And  live  with  the  saints  for  a  crown  of  gold. 

The  Kelpie  riders  were  stricken  sore; 

They  wavered,  and  wheeled,  and  rode  for  the  shore. 

7« 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

"Kelpie,  Kelpie,  treble  your  stride! 
Never  again  on  the  sea  we  ride. 

"Kelpie,  Kelpie,  out  of  the  storm; 
On,  for  the  fields  of  earth  are  warm ! " 

Knee  to  knee  they  are  riding  in: 
"  Brother,  brother,  —  the  goblin  kin ! " 

The  meadows  rocked  as  they  clomb  the  scaur; 
The  pines  re-echo  for  evermore 

The  sound  of  the  host  of  Kelpie  men; 
But  the  windflowers  died  on  Bareau  Fen. 

Over  the  marshes  all  night  long 

The  stars  went  round  to  a  riding  song: 

"  Kelpie,  Kelpie,  carry  us  through !  " 
And  the  goblin  maidens  danced  thereto. 

73 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

Till  dawn, —  and  the  revel  died  with  a  shout, 
For  the  ocean  riders  were  wearied  out. 

They  looked,  and  the  grass  was  warm  and  soft; 
The  dreamy  clouds  went  over  aloft; 

A  gloom  of  pines  on  the  weather  verge 

Had  the  lulling  sound  of  their  own  white  surge; 

A  whip-poor-will,  far  from  their  din, 
Was  saying  his  litanies  therein. 

Then  voices  neither  loud  nor  deep: 
"Tired,  so  tired;  sleep!   ah,  sleep! 

"The  stars  are  calm,  and  the  earth  is  warm. 
But  the  sea  for  an  earldom  is  given  to  storm. 

"Come  now,  inherit  the  houses  of  doom; 

Your  fields  of  the  sun  shall  be  harried  of  gloom." 

74 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

They  laid  them  down;  but  over  long 

They  rest, —  for  the  goblin  maids  are  strong. 

« 

The  sun  goes  round;   and  Bareau  Fen 
Is  a  door  of  earth  on  the  Kelpie  men, — 

Buried  at  dawn,  asleep,  unslain. 
With  not  a  mound  on  the  sunny  plain. 

Hard  by  the  walls  of  calm  Rochelle, 
Row  on  row  by  the  crystal  well. 

And  never  again  they  are  free  to  ride 
Through  all  the  years  on  the  tossing  tide, 

Barred  from  the  breast  of  the  barren  foam. 
Where  the  heart  within  them  is  yearning  home,- 

For  one  long  drench  of  the  surf  to  quell 
The  cursing  doom  of  the  goblin  spell. 

75 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

Only,  when  bugling  snows  alight 

To  smother  the  marshes  stark  and  white, 

Or  a  low  red  moon  peers  over  the  rim 
Of  a  winter  twilight  crisp  and  dim, 

With  a  sound  of  drift  on  the  buried  lands, 
The  goblin  maidens  loose  their  hands; 

A  wind  comes  down  from  the  sheer  blue  North; 
And  the  Kelpie  riders  get  them  forth. 

Ill 

Twice  have  I  been  on  Bareau  Fen, 

But  the  son  of  my  son  is  a  man  since  then. 

Once  as  a  lad  I  used  to  bear 
St.  Louis'  cross  through  the  chapel  square, 

76 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

Leading  the  choristers'  surpliced  file 
Slow  up  the  dusk  Cathedral  aisle. 

I  was  the  boy  of  all  Rochelle 
The  pure  old  father  trusted  well. 

But  one  clear  night  in  the  winter's  heart, 
I  wandered  out  to  that  place  apart. 

The  shafts  of  smoke  went  up  to  the  stars. 
Straight  as  the  Northern  Streamer  spars. 

From  the  town's  white  roofs,  so  still  it  was. 
The  night  in  her  dream  let  no  word  pass. 

Nor  ever  a  breath  that  one  could  feel; 
Only  the  snow  shrieked  under  my  heel. 

Yet  it  seemed  when  I  reached  the  poplar  bole, 
The  ghost  of  a  voice  was  crying,  "Skoal! 

77 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

"Rouse  thee  and  drink,  for  the  well  is  sweet, 
And  the  crystal  snow  is  good  to  eatl" 

I  heeded  little,  but  stooped  on  my  knee, 
And  ate  of  a  handful  dreamily. 

'Twas  cool  to  the  mouth  and  slaking  at  first, 
But  the  lure  of  it  was  ill  for  thirst. 

The  voice  cried,  "Soul  of  the  mortal  span, 
Art  thou  not  of  the  Kelpie  clan?" 

"What  are  you  doing  there  in  the  ground, 
Kelpie  rider,  and  never  a  sound 

*'To  roam  the  night  but  the  ghost  of  a  cry?" 
Ringing  and  swift  there  came  reply, 

"He  is  asleep  where  thou  art  afraid, 
In  the  tawny  arms  of  a  goblin  maid!" 

78 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

Then  I  knew  the  voice  was  the  voice  of  a  girl. 
And  I  marvelled  much  (while  a  little  swirl 

Of  snow  leaped  up  far  off  on  the  plain 
Of  sparkling  dust  and  died  again), 

For  what  do  the  cloisters  know,  think  ye, 
Of  women's  ways?    They  be  hard  to  see. 

Again  the  voice  cried,  ''Kin  of  my  kin. 
The  child  of  the  Sun  shall  win,  shall  win!" 

'Twas  an  evil  weird  that  so  befell; 

Yet  I  leaned  and  drank  of  the  bubbling  well. 

I  looked  for  my  face  in  the  crystal  spring, 
But  the  face  that  flickered  there  was  a  thing 

To  make  the  nape  of  your  neck  grow  chill, 
And  every  vein  surge  back  and  thrill 

79 


The  Kelpie  Riders 


With  a  passion  for  something  not  their  own  — 
In  a  life  their  life  'las  never  known. 

For  raven  hair  and  eyes  like  the  sun 
Are  merry  but  dour  to  look  upon. 

She  smiled  through  her  lashes  under  the  wave, 
And  my  soul  went  forth  her  bartered  slave. 

I  swore,   "By  St.  Louis,  I'll  come  to  thee, 
Though  I  ride  to  my  doom  in  the  gulfs  of  the  seal 

"Thy  Kelpie  rider  shall  wake  and  nij 
His  ruined  life  in  the  loss  of  you." 

Then  I  fled  in  the  start  of  a  terror  of  joy, 
O'er  leagues  where  a  legion  might  deploy; 

For  the  acres  of  snow  were  level  and  hard, 
Every  flake  like  a  crystal  shard. 

80 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

I  was  the  runner  of  all  Rochelle, 

Could  run  with  the  hounds  on  Haric  Fell; 

And  something  stark  as  a  gust  of  the  sea 
HiiL.  a  grip  of  the  whimsy  boy  in  me. 

I  ran  like  the  drift  on  the  ice  low  curled 

When  the  winds  of  Yule  are  abroad  on  the  world. 

Sudden,  the  beat  of  a  throbbing  sound 
Lost  in  the  core  of  the  blue  profound: 

"Kelpie,  Kelpie,  Kelpie,  come!" 

Was  it  my  heart?  —  But  my  heart  was  numb. 

"Kelpie,  Kelpie!"    Was  it  the  sea? 
Far  on,  at  the  verge  of  Bareau  lea, 

I  saw  like  an  army,  shield  and  casque. 
The  breakers  roll  in  the  Roads  of  Basque. 
G  8i 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

"Kelpie,  Kelpie!"    Was  it  the  wolves? 
In  the  dusk  of  pines  where  night  dissolves 

To  streamers  and  stars  through  the  mountain  gorge, 
I  heard  the  blast  of  a  giant  forge. 

Then  I  knew  the  wind  was  awake  from  the  North, 
And  the  ocean  riders  were  freed  and  forth. 

Time,  there  is  time  (now  gallop,  my  heart!) 
Ere  the  black  riders  disperse  and  depart. 

The  dawn  is  late,  but  the  dawn  comes  round, 
And  Fleetfoot  Jean  has  the  wind  of  a  hound. 

The  hue  and  cry  of  the  Kelpie  horde 

Was  growing  and  grim  on  that  white  seaboard. 

It  rolled  and  gathered  and  died  and  grew 
Far  off  to  the  rear;  a  smile  thereto 

8a 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

I  turned;  a  fathom  behind  my  ear 
A  rider  rode  with  a  shadowy  leer. 

I  sickened  and  sped.     He  laughed  aloud, 
"Wind  for  a  mourner,  snow  for  a  shroud  I" 

On  and  on,  half  blown,  half  blind. 

Shadow  and  self,  and  the  wind  behind!      >; 

I  slackened,  he  slackened;  I  fled,  he  flew; 
In  a  swirl  of  snow-drift  all  night  through 

I  scoured  along  the  gusty  fen, 
A  quarry  for  hunting  Kelpie  men. 

But  only  one  could  hold  at  my  side : 
"Brother,  brother,  I  love  thy  stride. 

"Wilt  thou  follow  thy  whim  to  win 
My  merry  maid  of  the  goblin  kin?" 

83 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

I  swerved  from  my  trail,  for  he  haunted  my  ear 
With  his  moaning  jibe  and  his  shadowy  leer. 

So  by  good  hap  as  we  sped  it  fell, 
I  fetched  a  circuit  back  for  the  well. 

Like  a  spilth  of  spume  on  the  crest  of  the  bore 
When  the  combing  tides  make  in  for  shore. 

That  runner  ran  whose  love  was  a  wraith; 
But  the  rider  rode  with  revenge  in  his  teeth. 

Another  league,  and  I  touch  the  goal, — 
The  mystic  rune  on  the  poplar  bole, — 

When  the  dusky  eyes  and  the  raven  hair 

And  the  lithe  brown  arms  shall  greet  me  there. 

I  ran  like  a  harrier  on  the  trace 
In  the  leash  of  that  ghoul,  and  the  wind  gave  chase. 

84 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

'-■'■'    '(''■■•  •..■>.■ 

A  furlong  now;  I  caught  the  gleam 

Of  the  bubbling  well  with  its  tiny  stream; 

An  arrowy  burst;   I  cleared  the  beck; 
And  —  the  Kelpie  rider  bestrode  my  neck. 

Dawn,  the  still  red  winter  dawn; 

I  awoke  on  the  plain;   the  wind  was  gone;  — 

All  gracious  and  good  as  when  God  made 
The  living  creatures,  and  none  was  afraid. 

I  stooped  to  drink  of  the  wholesome  spring 
Under  the  poplars  whispering: 

Face  to  my  face  in  that  water  clear  — 
The  Kelpie  rider's  jabbering  leer! 

Ah,  God!  not  me:   I  was  never  so! 
Sainted  Louis,  who  can  know 

8s 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

The  lords  of  life  from  the  slaves  of  death? 
What  help  avail  the  speeding  breath 

Of  the  spirit  that  knows  not  self's  abode, — 
When  the  soul  is  lost  that  knows  not  God? 

I  turned  me  home  by  St.  Louis*  Hall, 
Where  the  red  sun  burns  on  the  windows  tall. 

And  I  thought  the  world  was  strange  and  wild, 
And  God  with  his  altar  only  a  child. 


IV 


Again  one  year  in  the  prime  of  June, 
I  came  to  the  well  in  the  heated  noon, 

Leaving  Rochelle  with  its  red  roof  tiles 
By  the  Pottery  Gate  before  St.  Giles, — 

86 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

There  where  the  flower  market  is, 
Where  every  morning  up  from  Duprisse 

The  flower  girls  come  by  the  long  white  lane 
That  skirts  the  edge  of  Bareau  plain;  — 

To  the  North,  the  city  wall  in  the  sun, 
To  the  left,  the  fen  where  the  eye  may  run 

And  have  its  will  of  the  blazing  blue. 
The  while  I  loitered  the  market  through, 

Halting  a  moment  to  converse 

With  old  Babette  who  had  been  my  nurse. 

There  passed  through  the  stalls  a  woman,  bright 
With  a  kirtle  of  cinnabar  and  white 

Among  the  kerseys  blue;  and  I  said, 
"Who  is  it,  Babette,  with  lifted  head, 

87 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

"And  the  startled  look,  possessed  and  strange, 
Under  the  paint  —  secure  from  change?" 

"Ah,  'Sieur  Jean,  do  ye  not  ken 
Of  the  eerie  folk  of  Bareau  Fen?" 

I  blenched,  and  she  knew  too  well  I  wist 
The  fearsome  fate  of  the  goblin  tryst. 

"The  street  is  a  cruel  home,  'Sieur  Jean, 
But  a  weird  uncanny  drives  her  on. 

"'Tis  a  bitter  tale  for  Christian  folk, 

How  once  she  dreamed,  and  how  she  woke." 

"Ay,  ay!"     I  passed  and  reached  the  spring 
Where  the  poplars  kept  their  whispering. 

Hid  for  an  hour  in  the  shade, 

In  the  rank  marsh  grass  of  a  tiny  glade. 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

There  crossed  the  moor  from  the  town  afar, 
In  kirtle  of  white  and  cinnabar, 

A  wanderer  on  that  plain  of  tears, 
Bowed  with  a  burden  not  of  the  years, 

As  one  that  goeth  sorrowing 
For  many  an  unforgotten  thing. 

To  the  crystal  well  as  the  sun  drew  low 
There  came  that  harridan  of  woe. 

She  stooped  to  drink;   I  heard  her  cry: 
"Ah,  God,  how  tired  out  am  I! 

"I  called  him  by  the  dearest  name 
A  girl  may  call;  I  have  my  shame. 

"'Yet  death  is  crueller  than  life,* 
Once  they  said,  'for  all  the  strife.* 

89 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

"And  so  I  lived;  but  the  wild  will, 
Broken  and  bitter,  drives  to  ill. 

"And  now  I  know,  what  no  one  saith, 
That  love  is  crueller  than  death. 

"How  I  did  love  him!    Is  love  too  high, 
My  God,  for  such  lost  folk  as  I?" 

Her  tears  went  down  to  the  grass  by  the  well. 
In  that  passion  of  grief,  and  where  they  fell 

Windflowers  trembled  pale  and  white. 
A  craven  I  crept  away  from  the  sight; 

And  turned  me  home  to  St.  Louis'  Hall, 
Where  the  sunflowers  burn  by  the  eastern  wall. 

The  vesper  frankincense  that  day 
Rose  to  the  rafters  and  melted  away, 

90 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

And  was  no  more  than  a  cloud  that  stirs 
Among  the  spires  of  Norway  firs.  , 

And  I  said,  "The  holy  solitude 

Of  the  hoary  crypt  and  the  wild  green  wood 

"Are  one  to  the  God  I  have  never  known, 
Whose  kingdom  has  neither  bourn  nor  throne." 


Now  I  am  old,  and  the  years  delay; 

But  I  know,  I  know,  there  will  come  a  day, — 

When  April  is  over  the  Norland  town. 

And  the  loosened  brooks  from  the  hills  go  down, 

When  tears  have  quenched  the  sorrow  of  time, — 
Wherein  the  earth  shall  rebuild  her  prime, 

91 


The  Kelpie  Riders 

And  the  houses  of  dark  be  overthrown; 

When  the  goblin  maids  shall  love  their  own, — 

Their  arms  forever  unlaced  from  their  hold 
Of  the  earls  of  the  sea  on  that  alien  wold, — 

And  the  feckless  light  of  their  golden  eyes 
Shall  forget  the  desire  that  made  them  wise; 

When  the  hands  of  the  foam  shall  beckon  and  flee, 
And  the  Kelpie  riders  ride  for  the  sea; 

And  the  whip-poor-will  the  whole  night  long 
Repeat  his  litanies  of  song. 

Till  morning  whiten  the  world  again. 
And  the  flowers  revive  on  Bareau  Fen, 

Over  the  acres  of  calm  Rochelle 
Fresh  by  the  stream  of  the  crystal  well. 

9a 


NOONS  OF  POPPY 

Noons  of  poppy,  noons  of  poppy, 
Scarlet  leagues  along  the  sea; 
Flaxen  hair  afloat  in  sunlight. 
Love,  come  down  the  world  to  me! 

There's  a  Captain  I  must  ship  with, 
(Heart,  that  day  be  far  from  now!) 
Wears  his  dark  command  in  silence 
With  the  sea-frost  on  his  brow. 

Noons  of  poppy,  noons  of  poppy, 
Purple  shadows  by  the  sea; 
How  should  love  take  thought  to  wonder 
What  the  destined  port  may  be? 

93 


Noons  of  Poppy 

Nay,  if  love  have  joy  for  shipmate 
For  a  night-watch  or  a  year. 
Dawn  will  light  o'er  Lonely  Haven, 
Heart  to  happy  heart,  as  here. 

Noons  of  poppy,  noons  of  poppy, 
Scarlet  acres  by  the  sea 
Burning  to  the  blue  above  themj 
Love,  the  world  is  full  for  me. 


94 


LEGENDS  OF  LOST  HAVEN 

There  are  legends  of  Lost  Haven, 
Come,  I  know  not  whence,  to  me. 
When  the  wind  is  in  the  clover, 
When  the  sun  is  on  the  sea. 

There  are  rumors  in  the  pine-tops. 
There  are  whispers  in  the  grass; 
And  the  flocking  crows  at  nightfall 
Bring  home  hints  of  things  that  pass 

Out  upon  the  broad  dike  yonder. 
All  day  long  beneath  the  sun, 
Where  the  tall  ships  cloud  and  settle 
Down  the  sea-curve,  one  by  one. 

95 


Legends  of  Lost  Haven 

And  the  crickets  in  fine  chorus — 
Every  slim  and  tiny  reed  — 
Strive  to  chord  the  broken  rhythmus 
Of  the  world,  and  half  succeed. 

There  are  myriad  traditions 
Treasured  by  the  talking  rain; 
And  with  memories  the  moonlight 
Walks  the  cold  and  silent  plain. 

Where  the  river  tells  his  hill-tales 
To  the  lone  complaining  bar, 
Where  the  midgets  thread  their  dances 
To  the  yellow  twilight  star, 

Where  the  blossom  bends  to  hearken 
To  the  bee  with  velvet  bands, 
There  are  chronicles  enciphered 
Of  the  yet  uncharted  lands. 

96 


Legends  of  Lost  Haven 

All  the  musical  marauders 
Of  the  berry  and  the  bloom 
Sing  the  lure  of  soul's  illusion 
Out  of  darkness,  out  of  doom. 

But  the  sure  and  great  evangel 
Comes  when  half  alone  I  hear, 
At  the  rosy  door  of  silence. 
Love,  the  lord  of  speech,  draw  near. 

Then  for  once  across  the  threshold. 
Darkling  spirit,  thou  art  free,— 
As  thy  hope  is  every  ship  makes 
Some  lost  haven  of  the  sea. 


u 


97 


THE  SHADOW  BOATSWAIN 

Don't  you  know  the  sailing  orders? 
It  is  time  to  put  to  sea, 
And  the  stranger  in  the  harbor 
Sends  a  boat  ashore  for  me. 

With  the  thunder  of  her  canvas 
Coming  on  the  wind  again, 
I  can  hear  the  Shadow  Boatswain 
Piping  to  his  shadow  men. 

Is  it  firelight  or  morning, 
That  red  flicker  on  the  floor? 
Your  good-by  was  braver,  sweetheart, 
When  I  sailed  away  before. 

98 


The  Shadow  Boatswain 

Think  of  this  last  lovely  summer! 
Love,  what  ails  the  wind  to-night? 
What's  he  saying  in  the  chimney 
Turns  your  berry  cheek  so  white? 

What  a  morning!    How  the  sunlight 
Sparkles  on  the  outer  bay, 
Where  the  brig  lies  waiting  for  me 
To  trip  anchor  and  away! 

That's  the  Doomkeel.     You  may  know  her 
By  her  clean  run  aft;  and,  then, 
Don't  you  hear  the  Shadow  Boatswain 
Piping  to  his  shadow  men? 

Off  the  freshening  sea  to  windward, 
Is  it  a  white  tern  I  hear 
Shrilling  in  the  gusty  weather 
Where  the  far  sea-line  is  clear? 

99 


The  Shadow  Boatswain 

What  a  morning  for  departure! 
How  your  blue  eyes  melt  and  shine! 
Will  you  watch  us  from  the  headland 
Till  we  sink  below  the  line? 

I  can  see  the  wind  already 
Steer  the  scurf  marks  of  the  tide, 
As  we  slip  the  wake  of  being 
Down  the  sloping  world  and  wide. 

I  can  feel  the  vasty  mountains 
Heave  and  settle  under  me, 
And  the  Doomkeel  veer  and  snuader, 
Crumbling  on  the  hollow  sea. 

There's  a  call,  as  when  a  white  gull 
Cries  and  beats  across  the  blue; 
That  must  be  the  Shadow  Boatswain 
Piping  to  his  shadow  crew. 

lOO 


The  Shadow  Boatswain 

There's  a  boding  sound,  like  winter 
When  the  pines  begin  to  quail; 
That  must  be  the  gray  wind  moaning 
In  the  belly  of  the  sail. 

I  can  feel  the  icy  fingers 
Creeping  in  upon  my  bones; 
There  must  be  a  berg  to  windward 
Somewhere  in  these  border  zones. 

Stir  the  fire.  ...     I  love  the  sunlight,- 
Always  loved  my  shipmate  sun. 
How  the  sunflowers  beckon  to  me 
From  the  dooryard  one  by  one! 

How  the  royal  lady  roses 
Strew  this  summer  world  of  ours! 
There'll  be  none  in  Lonely  Haven; 
It  is  too  far  north  for  flowers. 

lOI 


The  Shadow  ^-Uswain 

There,  sweetheart  1    And  I  must  leave  you. 
What  should  touch  my  wife  with  tears? 
There's  no  danger  with  the  Master; 
He  has  sailed  the  sea  for  years. 

With  the  sea-wolves  on  her  quarter, 
And  a  white  bone  in  her  teeth. 
He  will  steer  the  shadow  cruiser, 
Dark  before  and  doom  beneath, 

Down  the  last  expanse,  till  morning 
Flares  above  the  broken  sea, 
And  the  midnight  storm  is  over. 
And  the  Isles  are  close  alee. 

So  some  twilight,  when  your  roses 
Are  all  blown  and  it  is  June, 
You  will  turn  your  blue  eyes  seaward 
Through  the  white  dusk  of  the  moon, 

I02 


The  Shadow  Boatswain 

Wondering,  as  that  far  sea-cry 
Comes  upon  the  wind  again, 
And  you  hear  the  Shadow  Boatswain 
Piping  to  his  shadow  men. 


103 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  ISLES 

There  is  rumor  in  Dark  Harbor, 
And  the  folk  are  all  astir; 
For  a  stranger  in  the  offing 
Draws  them  down  to  gaze  at  her, 

In  the  gray  of  early  morning, 
Black  against  the  orange  streak, 
Making  in  below  the  ledges, 
With  no  colors  at  her  peak. 

Something  makes  their  hearts  uneasy 
As  they  watch  the  long  black  hull. 
For  she  brings  the  storm  behind  her 
While  before  her  there  is  lull. 

104 


The  Master  of  the  Isles 

With  no  pilot  and  unspokeni 
Where  the  dancing  breakers  are. 
Presently  she  veers  and  races 
In  across  the  roaring  bar, — 

Rounds  and  luffs  and  comes  to  anchor, 
While  the  wharf  begins  to  throng. 
Silence  falls  upon  the  women, 
And  misgiving  stirs  the  strong. 

Then  with  some  obscure  foreboding, 
As  a  gray-haired  watcher  smiles, 
They  perceive  the  fearless  captain 
Is  the  Master  of  the  Isles. 

They  recall  the  bleak  December 
Many  streaming  years  ago. 
When  the  stranger  had  been  sighted 
Driving  shoreward  with  the  snow; 

105 


The  Master  of  the  Isles 

When  the  Master  came  among  them 
With  his  calm  and  courtly  pride, 
And  had  sailed  away  at  sundown 
With  pale  Dora  for  his  bride; 

How  again  he  came  one  summer 
When  the  herring  schools  were  late, 
And  had  cleared  before  the  morning 
With  old  Alec's  son  for  mate. 

There  was  glamour  with  the  Master; 
He  had  tales  of  far-off  seas; 
But  his  habit  and  demeanor 
Were  of  other  lands  than  these. 

He  had  nt^ver  made  the  Harbor 
But  there  sailed  away  with  him 
Wife  or  child  or  friend  or  lover, 
Leaving  eyes  to  strain  and  swim,— 

io6 


The  Master  of  the  Isles 

Strain  and  wait  for  their  returning; 
Yet  they  never  had  come  back; 
For  the  pale  wake  of  the  Master 
7s  a  wandering,  fading  track. 

Just  beyond  our  utmost  fathom 
Is  the  anchorage  we  crave, 
But  the  Master  knows  the  soundings 
By  the  reach  of  every  wave. . 

Ju^t  beyond  the  last  horizon, 
Vague  upon  the  weather-gleam, 
Loom  the  Faroff  Isles  forever, 
The  tradition  of  a  dream. 

There  a  white  and  brooding  summer 
Haunts  upon  the  gray  sea-plain, 
^^ere  the  gray  sea-winds  are  quiet 
At  the  sources  of  the  rain. 

107 


The  Master  of  ike  Isles 

There  where  all  world-weary  dreamers 
Get  them  forth  to  their  release, 
Lie  the  colonies  of  the  kindred. 
In  the  provinces  of  peace. 

Thither  in  the  stormy  sunset 
Will  the  Master  sail  to-night; 
And  the  village  will  be  silent 
When  he  drops  below  the  light 

Not  a  soul  on  all  the  hillside 
But  will  watch  her  when  she  clears, 
Dreaming  of  the  Port  o*  Strangers 
In  the  roadstead  of  the  years. 

"Port  o'  Strangers,  Port  o*  Strangers!" 
"Where  away?"    "On  the  weather  bow." 
"Drive  her  down  the  closing  distance!"  .  ,  . 
That's  to-morrow,  but  not  now. 

io8 


The  Master  of  the  Isles 

What  imperial  ndventure 
Some  wide  morning  it  will  be, 
Sweeping  in  to  Lonely  Haven 
From  the  chartless  round  of  sea! 

How  imposing  a  departure, 
While  this  little  harbor  smiles. 
Steering  for  the  outer  sea-rim 
With  the  Master  of  the  Isles! 


zc)9 


THE  LAST  WATCH 

Comrades,  comrades,  have  me  buried 
Like  a  warrior  of  the  sea, 
With  a  flag  across  my  breast 
And  my  sword  upon  my  knee. 

Steering  out  from  vanished  headlands 
For  a  harbor  on  no  chart, 
With  the  winter  in  the  rigging, 
With  the  ice-wind  in  my  heart, 

Down  the  boumless  slopes  of  sea-room. 
With  the  long  gray  wake  behind, 
I  have  sailed  my  cruiser  steady 
With  no  pilot  but  the  wind.    , 

zio 


TJie  Last  Watch 

Battling  with  relentless  pirates 
From  the  lower  seas  of  Doom, 
I  have  kept  the  colors  flying 
Through  the  roar  of  drift  and  gloom. 

Scudding  where  the  shadow  foemen 
Hang  about  us  grim  and  stark, 
Broken  spars  and  shredded  canvas, 
We  are  racing  for  the  dark. 

Sped  and  blown  abaft  the  sunset 
Like  a  shriek  the  storm  has  caught; 
But  the  helm  is  lashed  to  windward. 
And  the  sails  are  sheeted  taut.. 

Comrades,  comrades,  have  me  buried 
Like  a  warrior  of  the  night. 
I  can  hear  the  bell-buoy  calling 
Down  below  the  harbor  light 

III 


Thi  Last  Waich 

Steer  in  shoreward,  loose  the  signali 
The  last  watch  has  been  cut  short; 
Speak  me  kindly  to  the  islesmen, 
When  we  make  the  foreign  port. 

We  shall  make  it  ere  the  morning 
Rolls  the  fog  from  strait  and  bluff; 
Where  the  offing  crimsons  eastward 
There  is  anchorage  enough. 

How  I  wander  in  my  dreaming! 
Are  we  northing  nearer  home, 
Or  outbound  for  fresh  adventure 
On  the  reeling  plains  of  foam? 

North  I  think  it  is,  my  comrades^ 
Where  one  heart-beat  counts  for  ten, 
Where  the  loving  hand  is  loyal. 
And  the  women's  sons  are  men; 

iia 


Thi  Last  Watch 

Where  the  red  auroras  tremble 
When  the  polar  night  is  still, 
Lighting  home  the  worn  seafarers 
To  their  haven  in  the  hill. 

Comrades,  comrades,  have  me  buried 
Like  a  warrior  of  the  North. 
Lower  me  the  long-boat,  stay  me 
In  your  arms,  and  bear  me  forth; 

Lay  me  in  the  sheets  and  row  me« 
With  the  tiller  in  my  hand, 
Row  me  in  below  the  beacon 
Where  my  sea-dogs  used  to  land. 

Has  your  captain  lost  his  cunning 
After  leading  you  so  far? 
Row  me  your  last  league,  my  sea-kings; 
It  is  safe  within  the  bar. 
I  1x3 


The  Last  Watch 

Shoulder  me  and  house  me  hillward, 
Where  the  field-lark  makes  his  bed, 
So  the  gulls  can  wheel  above  me, 
All  day  long  when  I  am  dead; 

Where  the  keening  wind  can  find  me 
With  the  April  rain  for  guide, 
And  come  crooning  her  old  stories 
Of  the  kingdoms  of  the  tide. 

Comrades,  comrades,  have  me  buried 
Like  a  wanior  of  the  sun; 
I  have  carried  my  sealed  orders 
Till  the  last  command  is  done. 

Kiss  me  on  the  cheek  for  courage, 
(There  is  none  to  greet  me  home,) 
Then  farewell  to  your  old  lover 
Of  the  thunder  of  the  foam; 

114 


The  Last  Watck 

For  the  grass  is  full  of  slumber 
In  the  twilight  world  for  me, 
And  my  tired  hands  are  slackened 
From  their  toiling  on  the  sea. 


"5 


OUTBOUND 

A  LONELY  sail  in  the  vast  sea-room, 
I  have  put  out  for  the  port  of  gloom. 

The  voyage  is  far  on  the  trackless  tide, 
The  watch  is  long,  and  the  seas  are  wide. 

The  headlands  blue  in  the  sinking  day 
Kiss  me  a  hand  on  the  outward  way. 

The  fading  gulls,  as  they  dip  and  veer, 
Lift  me  a  voice  that  is  good  to  hear. 

The  great  winds  come,  and  the  heaving  sea. 
The  restless  mother,  is  calling  me. 

ii6 


Outbound 

The  cry  of  her  heart  is  lone  and  wild, 
Searching  the  night  for  her  wandered  child. 

Beautiful,  weariless  mother  of  ncine, 

In  the  drift  of  doom  I  am  here,  I  am  thine. 

Beyond  the  fathom  of  hope  or  fear. 
From  bourn  to  bourn  of  the  dusk  I  steer. 

Swept  on  in  the  wake  of  the  stars,  in  the  stream 
Of  a  roving  tide,  from  dream  to  dream. 


117 


